Beneath
by Kendra Doyle
Summary: What if Buffy had turned to someone other than Spike in Season Six?
1. Secrets

**Beneath**

Author: Kendra Doyle

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Through Season Six

Idea: What if Buffy decided to turn to someone else in Season Six?

Please review!

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"Hey, Xander,"  
  
"Hey, Buff."  
  
I noticed that she was wearing a black halter top that she used to wear sometimes to the Bronze. I remember it well because I always complimented it, and Anya would then tell me in no uncertain terms to stop drooling at Buffy's breasts. Usually right in front of Buffy, Willow, and five or ten random bystanders.

Now, though, it hung loosely on her bony shoulders and chest. I saw that she had dark circles under her eyes.  
  
"Xander, I-I wanted to talk to you. Alone," her voice shook the tiniest bit.  
  
"Well, here we are. Alone as two peas in a pod. Um, assuming it was a very little pod with only  
two peas in it. So shoot," I sat down on the couch and patted the seat next to me. Buffy sat on the edge of the cushion, looking down at her hands. The skin and nails, thanks to slayer healing,  
looked perfectly normal.  
  
"I've been thinking a lot about things," she began, still not looking at me.  
  
"Since I . . . got back, everything seems different. Everyone . . . " suddenly, she looked up and  
met my eyes. Something in her look made me feel strange.  
  
"I know before, you and I never . . . well, there was Angel and then Riley, things were always so  
complicated. You were always a good friend through everything. But now," she slid closer to me  
on the couch and laid her perfectly-healed right hand on my leg.

For a moment, I remembered how it had looked that night--bleeding, torn nails hanging loosely from dirty fingers--so vividly, that I almost jerked away, disgusted. I got hold of myself and looked back up.  
  
"Xander, I don't just want to be friends anymore. I want to be . . . close to you, Xander. I want  
to make up for everything before, the way I've treated you. Starting now."

Buffy leaned in, her eyes closed, her lips inches from mine. For an instant I imagined I smelled the faint scent of dirt, cloying perfume, and under it something else: the sweetish scent of decay. I pulled away and stood.  
  
"Buffy, what is this? This- this isn't right."  
  
Buffy's hand slid off my leg, and she opened her eyes. Now she looked angry, and she stood up  
too.  
  
"Oh, so now you're too good for me, is that it? Bring her back from the dead, and, oops, the  
value decreases dramatically. Unfortunate side effect, can't be helped. Should have read the fine  
print, huh Xand?"  
  
"Buff, don't say that," I protested. "That's definitely not the issue here,"  
  
"So what is? Why can't we be together?"  
  
She laid a hand on my cheek. "I want _you_, Xander."  
  
Just a few months ago, this whole scenario would have been more than welcome. In fact, I could recall visualizing similar situations many a long winter's night. Now, though, it felt wrong. Like we were in high school again, and no matter what she said, I wasn't going to open that rain coat. I gently pushed her hand away and took a couple steps back.  
  
"Buffy, come on. This isn't-"  
  
"Xander, please," I could hear the desperation in her voice now, and saw a tear slide down her  
cheek. She hastily wiped it away and turned, not looking at me. I went over and hugged her  
gently. Her skin felt cold.  
  
"Buffy, hey, what's up? Did something happen?"

She looked back up, more tears brimming in her eyes.

"Please, Xander. I need . . . I just need to _feel_ something."

Buffy began to cry in earnest then, with long, shuddering sobs that shook her whole body. But before she looked away again, I figured out the look in her eyes. The strange look that made my skin crawl, although I didn't know why.   
  
Her eyes were empty.

It was like looking into the shutter-less windows of an abandoned house. On the surface, they were the same blue-green eyes that I'd always admired, once loved. But beneath . . .   
  
"Oh God, Buffy," I muttered, stroking her hair while she sobbed into my chest.

"What did we do to you?"

I held her a long time after she stopped crying.


	2. Truths

**Beneath, part two**

Author: Kendra Doyle

Rating: G

Disclaimer: If they were mine, I'd be rich.

I honestly didn't even think of another chapter when I wrote the first, but since so many reviews mentioned one, I figured, why not?

Please review!

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I poured the hot chocolate into mugs, then added marshmallows and whipped cream. I carefully  
carried the mugs with their precarious white towers into the living room.  
  
"Ok, I've got the magic drink for what ails you. I didn't know if you liked marshmallows or-"  
  
Buffy was sitting on the couch looking into the distance, not blinking. She didn't seem to hear me  
or even notice that I existed. I set the mugs down on an end table and approached her slowly.  
  
"Buffy?"   
  
Nothing. I lightly touched her arm.   
  
"Buffy?"  
  
She jumped, and looked wildly around. She saw me, and continued to stare a moment, looking  
confused and disoriented.  
  
"Xander?"  
  
"Yeah, Buff. It's me. You're at my apartment, remember?"  
  
She put her head in her hands, seeming to collect herself.  
  
"Um, yeah. Of course. I was just . . . "  
  
She left the sentence trailing, and I didn't push.  
  
"I brought hot chocolate. I think the whipped cream's a little melt-y, but hey, nothing like a hot  
drink on a warm California night."  
  
I handed her one of the mugs, and she took it, not looking at me.  
  
"Thanks," she said, in an automatic way. She held the mug without drinking, again staring into the  
distance.  
  
I set my own mug back on the table and sat down next to Buffy.  
  
"Buffy," I said gently, "Can we talk? You're kind of scaring me, Buff, and I want to help."  
  
She seemed to shake herself out of her daze and finally met my eyes again. She looked like she  
was going to say something, then she shook her head. She murmured,  
  
"I can't. I can't tell you."  
  
"Can't tell me? But don't you know," I said in a fake deep voice, "I am the Amazing Xand Man,  
the greatest listener in the land!"  
  
I earned a weak smile.  
  
"Really, Buff. You know you can tell me anything. Please, let me in. Let me help."  
  
In a voice so low I barely caught it, she said, "Ok."  
  
She sighed deeply and set her lukewarm hot chocolate on the table in front of her. She seemed to be steeling herself for something painful.  
  
"When I died," she began slowly, "I didn't go to some hell dimension. And it wasn't dark or cold. It wasn't empty or blank either. It was . . . warm. Happy. Safe. I felt joy. And I finally felt at peace. I think . . . I think I was in heaven."  
  
Buffy quickly looked up at me. I felt stunned, like someone had punched me in the gut and  
knocked the breath out of me. This didn't feel real. I heard myself say:  
  
"So, when we brought you back . . . "  
  
"It was like being yanked out of the happiest dream and waking up to find everything wrong. I  
was in my coffin. I didn't know where I was. I couldn't breathe and I . . .   
"After, it was so cold and dark. Everything seemed hard and painful and loud. I saw things  
burning. I thought I was in hell.   
"I just wanted to go back. I tried, but Dawn . . .   
"I started to remember things. Later, Willow, Dawn, you, then Giles . . . everyone wanted me to  
be ok. I've tried, but I'm not ok. Everything seems cold and empty. Things don't make sense  
anymore. This– I didn't want this. I was done, and now I'm back, and I don't know why. I just  
want to rest."  
  
Buffy stopped. Her hands were trembling and she looked exhausted and pale.   
  
I felt numb. Horror, guilt, and many other unpleasant feelings were bubbling up, waiting to  
surface, but now I just felt numb.   
  
"Oh, God."  
  
Buffy just sat silently, looking at her hands. She looked like she might cry, but couldn't find the  
energy.  
  
"Buffy, I'm so sor–"   
  
"No."

Her voice was firmer and she was smiling slightly as she looked up, though her eyes still  
shone with tears. "Don't apologize. This isn't your fault. You–all of you–were just trying to help.  
You couldn't have known. I know that now. I guess I always did; I just needed to say it. To tell  
someone the truth."  
  
I could feel very unmanly tears in my own eyes, and I blinked them away.  
  
"Buff, I don't know what to say. We were so sure were _saving_ you from some sort of torture, and now . . . I just wish I could change things. Make it better."  
  
Buffy put her hand on mine. She didn't feel quite as cold anymore.   
  
"You already have. I'm glad I came to you, Xander. Well, not about the whole 'coming on to you to get over my feeling of disconnect' thing," she smiled wryly.   
"but the other part was good. I'm glad I don't have to pretend. At least for tonight."  
  
Buffy curled up next to me and laid her head against my chest. Soon she was asleep, breathing  
deeply and evenly. I pulled the throw off the couch and put it around her, working as quietly and  
carefully as possible. I couldn't bear to wake her. She looked so peaceful.


	3. Beginnings

It's finally gone.

That scary, empty look in her eyes.

It took its time leaving. It would show up randomly, like when she was watching TV or reading a book. One minute she would be happy, laughing, the next, she was gone. I covered for her, moving closer, talking loud, "accidently" brush her arm.

The others noticed, of course, but I tried to keep them from questioning her. I'm sure Giles always suspected the truth, but he was the first to stop asking Buffy if she was all right, and even told the others to "stop badgering her." I think maybe he didn't want to hear Buffy's answer.

But long after even Anya decided to let it go, Willow still looked worried and angry when Buffy zoned out, and everyone else pretended not to notice.

After Buffy snapped out of it and was trying to act like nothing had happened, Willow kept pushing, asking what was wrong.

One night, I finally snapped and muttered to her to just shut up. I could see how it stung her; I could count on one hand the number of times I've said that to her and meant it, most of them when we were less than ten years old. I didn't want to hurt her, and I understood why she was so worried. Besides that Buffy's her best friend, it was mainly her idea to bring her back. Will's always been a perfectionist, and, as harsh as it may sound, if there's something wrong with her work, she wants to know about it. To fix it. But there wasn't anything Willow could do. And every time anyone would start questioning, Buffy would get that "deer in headlights" look. I don't think the others noticed; she tried to hide it and keep things light. But I did.

A couple days after Buffy told me, I half-heartedly tried to convince her to tell the rest of the gang, but I was pretty sure she wouldn't. Even I wasn't sure it was a good idea. She told one person, and it was obviously a big relief that she wouldn't have to keep it all inside, but if everyone knew, then she could never get away from the looks of concern and pity. And guilt.

I think the guilt was what sealed the deal. And I guess I really mean Willow's guilt.

I mean, we all share some responsibility, and even Giles would feel bad for not keeping a closer watch, but I don't think Willow would forgive herself. I don't know what she'd do if she knew what we–what she–put Buffy through.

So, Buffy decided not to tell anyone else. And so it was up to me to help her, try to buy her the time and space she needed to–hopefully–heal. I'll admit, it wasn't always easy. Okay, sometimes it was pretty damn scary. Besides the zoning out, there were a couple of times I caught her fingering kitchen knives, standing a little to near the edge of a roof, things like that. She always came up with an excuse, and I don't think she _really_ meant to do anything. Not _really._

But mostly my role as confidant included, predictably, a lot of talking. Buffy would come over to my place, or we'd go out, walking, talking, and occasionally slaying. Buffy's butt-kicking abilities didn't seem any worse for the wear, but nonetheless, after a few weeks of being Buffy's only backup, I thought my own slaying abilities were much improved. At least, I mentioned this and Buffy didn't laugh.

We didn't always talk about deep, meaning-of-life kind of stuff (I told her the answer was 42, but she just looked at me funny). We talked about movies, friends, high school, demons. Normal stuff. It was nice. Buffy liked being around me because she didn't have to pretend to be happier or stronger than she was. I liked being around her because she's Buffy.

The rest of the gang started to notice how much we were hanging out together pretty much right away. They didn't ask about it much, though, I think because they noticed, just as I did, that Buffy seemed to be getting better. Decidedly fewer zoning-out incidents, and she just generally seemed happier, and, well, more _normal._

Willow did glance at me a few times when Buffy was out of the room, like she wanted to ask, but finally she just seemed to accept it. Dawn, I think, was just happy to have Buffy more _there_, and never questioned what I had to do with it. Giles, well, he always knows more than he lets on, but anything he was curious about he kept to himself. Tara just seemed happy that we were all happier.

And then there's Anya.

Soon after Buffy and I started spending time together, I anticipated a nasty brawl with Anya. Not because Buffy and I were anything more than friends, but because Anya is very, um, "sensitive" to any hint of neglect. I just hoped there wouldn't be vengeance.

Imagine my surprise, then, when, one Tuesday night, after I had just hung up after talking to Buffy, Anya sat me down and very reasonably explained to me that she was breaking up with me. She was very calm and rational, although she firmly did not let me interrupt and seemed to be holding back tears sometimes. She told me that she knew Buffy and I were becoming close, and, silencing my protest, said that even if I didn't think it was a romantic sort of relationship, she had been around a long time, and knew what was going on. She told me that she loved me, but that she just couldn't handle that kind of pain, and certainly wasn't going to wait around for it. Then she kissed me and left, taking bags that I hadn't even noticed her packing.

So that was that. I think I really did love her, and I still miss her. Lately, I've seen her and Spike together a lot more than is healthy. But if I close my eyes and hum real loud, it isn't happening.

Buffy was genuinely upset when I told her about Anya and me, and I know she blamed herself. But I think I told her the truth when I said it wasn't her fault, and it would have happened eventually anyway. I can't explain it, but even though Anya and I loved each other, I just can't see us together five, ten years from now, happily married with kids and a dog and a picket fence. I don't believe in any of that predestination stuff, but if I did, I'd say maybe it wasn't meant to be.

All I can say for sure is, spending time with Buffy felt good. We got closer than I think we ever were before. She told me things about Angel and her dad, things I'm not sure she ever told Willow or Giles. In return, I think I surprised her with some stuff about my life and thoughts I have that don't revolve around cartoons or comics.

But, best of all, she was healing.

Finally, just in the past couple of weeks, that look in her eyes left for good. I'll admit, there were times when I thought she might never really come back. Like part of her was still buried, and I'd never fully reach her. But she made it, and I think it's safe to say I helped.

She's starting to find joy in the things and people around her again. She's hanging out with the rest of the gang again, just like old times (although I don't think she ever will tell them). Giles is visiting in England right now, but when he comes back Buffy wants to start training again. She and Dawn are close again, and Buffy even remembers to make Dawn do her homework. Actually–this may sound crazy, but Willow mentioned it too–she starting to look _happier_ than she did before. Somehow, she hasn't just gotten over what happened to her, but she's let go of some of the pain of the last few years. If I wanted to sound like a Hallmark Card, I might say she's sort of been _reborn._

Last week, when we were at my apartment talking over hot chocolate as usual, she kissed me.

I didn't feel the earth move, and there definitely weren't any trumpets. In fact, it felt natural;for once it wasn't forced or brought on by some ulterior motive. It just seemed_ right._

Until I spilled hot chocolate on myself and had to make a hasty retreat to change my pants.

Well, maybe next time.

I'm certainly not going to rush any relationship with Buffy; as far as I'm concerned, it's just good to have her back.

On the Hellmouth, you learn pretty quick to not look too far into the future, because there might not be one. Right now we're all alive and together, and that's all that matters.

fin


End file.
